


There Is Bravery In Tears

by donnarafiki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Drarry, Funeral, Get Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Character Death, eulogy speech thing, frank died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnarafiki/pseuds/donnarafiki
Summary: Blaise finds with Neville at his worst moment... And falls in love with him all the same





	There Is Bravery In Tears

When Blaise heared that Frank Longbottom passed away in his sleep the night before, it didn't interest him much. After all he’d buried almost a dozen stepdads by now, and as an eight year from a hated house his main concern still is not getting sabotaged or pranked by any of the other houses.

That changed when, in the hope of escaping some rampant Hufflepuffs, Blaise went to find shelter in one of the greenhouses. He very much believed he was alone at first, but as he made his way deeper into the glass building, he picked up on a sound. A soft whimper, barely there yet filled with more emotion than Blaise had publicly shown in his whole life.

Slowly, he sneaked towards the sound, and the Gryffindor who produced it. Neville sat flat on his arse in front of a plant that looked almost just as sad as him, with dirty greyish leaves and flowers that appeared to have died several years back. Blaise recognized it as a rare kind of magical orchid, that could usually only be found around graveyards. It lived on grief, and was having the time of its life now with this new visitor.

Once Blaise reached Neville he quietly sat down, and Neville went from quiet crying to soundless crying. He didn’t look up when Blaise took one of his hands between his own and slowly started to rub it warm.

It was the only thing that could help during moments like that, as he well knew. When one of his favorite step dad’s had passed away, Pansy had once spend an entire night rubbing circles on his back. The knowledge that he wasn’t alone, even though it felt like it, made the pain a fraction easier to bear.

When Blaise thought the Gryffindor was ready to speak, he asked, “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“I didn’t want to bother them.” The answer is whispered, and spoken without thought or lies. And Blaise understood. It was late April, the memorial of the Battle of Hogwarts was edging nearer every day, and people were grieving enough as it was. A kind soul like Neville would never burden others with more grief when he thought he could cope on his own just as well.

Blaise shifted closer and gently tested the water by touching Neville’s shoulder. Some people took comfort in physical contact at times like these. Neville melted into the touch and soon Blaise was the one rubbing circles on someone’s back as Neville cried on his shoulder.

It was an honouring position, he thought surprised. Never before had anyone trusted him so much that they let themselves go in front of him. Though that had more to do with his family and house, and less with him being untrustworthy. He promised himself right there and then that he’d never damage Neville’s trust in him.

“I think the orchid has been fed enough, don’t you?” He gently suggested as his heating charms started to fail and dusk came rolling in. “We don’t want an infestation after all.”

Neville sniffed, and looked at him in surprise. “You know about the orchid?”

And Blaise, sensing that Neville could use a break from actively grieving his father, told Neville all about the orchids his mother grew back home. And once he’d guided the Gryffindor to the kitchens and sat him down in front of a light meal, he talked about the herb garden, the climate room, his childhood obsession with cactuses, and the brewing ingredient business of his aunt.

He noticed Neville frequently zoomed out of the conversation, but that was okay. Blaise knew he was just being a background noise to help keep Neville sane, and he was okay with that. Slytherins were loyal to their friends, even when they had barely been in their circles for a day.

“He’ll be buried on Monday, grandma said.” Neville stared at the last greens on his plate without really seeing them. “I’d like you to be there, if that’s okay.”

Neville looked utterly exhausted due to his own grief. Even the simple act of putting a question mark behind his words cost too much energy. Blaise felt for the man, and immediately agreed. He hated funerals, but he hated the idea of not being there for Neville even more. He picked Neville’s hand up again.

“Of course. Anything to make it bearable.”

* * *

 

He’d expected to be seated at the back of the funeral hall, but Neville never let go off his hand after apparating and suddenly Blaise found himself between a silently crying Gryffindor and a sad but proud looking old lady. He greeted her the old fashioned pureblood way, and got a curd nod in return. Never let it be said that Zabini’s don’t know how to get in someone’s good book.

On the other side of Neville there was a wheelchair with a timid looking lady in it, who drooled a little out of the corner of her mouth. Neville had taken hold of her hand as soon as they’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he’d let go of her any time soon either.

He almost did, though. Just before the start of the service a respectless journalist from _The Prophet_ sneaked past the press barrier and tried to snap a picture. Blaise calmly put him in a full body bind, ruined his camera and levitated him to the side of the hall for security to take care of. This was hardly the time to make a scene.

When it was time for Neville to come up to the stage and make a speech, it took less than two ticks for Blaise to see that he wasn’t up for it. There was no way he could speak in the state he was in. Blaise was just about to reach into his pocket for an industrial strength calming draught when Neville stopped him. He shook his head, and shot a look at his mother before focussing on Blaise again. _I don’t want to leave her. And I don’t want to stand up there as less than myself. My father has spend half his live like that. He doesn’t deserve me speaking like that too._

With reluctance, Neville let go of Blaise’s hand and pulled his speech out of his pocket. He tried to hand it over to his grandmother, but she wasn’t having it. _Go up there yourself_. She mouthed.

Blaise leaned forward in an attempt to shield Neville from the sight. This day was hard enough for him as it was, without having to face his grandmother’s displeasure. Neville was brave for being there at all. Blaise had sometimes avoided his step dads’ funerals just because he didn’t trust himself not to cry. And here Neville was, in front of national and even some international media, crying without giving a single damn about it.

He gave a damn about his grandmother’s opinion though. But Blaise wasn’t about to let Neville do something against his own wishes, just to stop himself from disappointing the old woman. She ought to be oozing with pride for him, instead of making him feel like he wasn’t good enough at his own father’s bloody funeral.

Acting on impulse, Blaise lay his hand open on his knee, and looked at Neville. _I could do it, if you want_. Then he directed a look behind them, to where Harry sat between Draco and Ron. _Or I can ask him_.

Neville looked up at him, and paper touched his open palm. _You do it._

Blaise send him what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He wasn’t really good at openly showing emotions. Then he took a hold of the speech. “It would be my honour to speak in your name.”

He squeezed Neville’s hand, got up to his feet, and ignored all the odd looks he got as he got up on the small stage. When he passed the coffin, he kneeled down and paid his respects to the brave man who lay there. It really would be an honour to speak in the name of his son.

He rose to his feet again, and stood behind the lectern. “I stand here today, in the name of Neville Longbottom. My words are his.” His clear tenor carried far in the funeral hall, and the puzzled look on people’s faces melted with his serious tone. He might not speak often, but that did not mean he didn’t know how to do it.

Once he was sure he held everyone’s attention, he folded the eulogy open, and delivered Neville’s speech.“Dear dad. I can still remember the first time I heard you say a word. I was three years old, and I couldn’t really speak yet. I remember thinking, _cool, my dad is learning how to talk too, just like me_. Only you weren’t. You couldn’t. That was not how your brain was wired anymore.”

Blaise took a moment to breathe. He glanced into the audience and saw that Draco had already lost it. But his tears were silent and respectful, never drawing away any attention from Neville himself. The Gryffindor held his mother’s hand clutched against his chest, but he was fighting his tears now, trying to watch Blaise deliver the speech.

“It never bothered me, that you could not speak. You were still my dad, just as your wife is still my mom, and I love you. I loved everything about you. The way your eyes could still show a spark when a blackbird sang outside your window. The way I could recognize myself in your face. The way you could hold mum’s hands for days on end. The way you squeezed mine, on the rare occasion you had a good day.”

Almost unnoticed to himself, a tear fell from his eyes to the page. Luckily the ink didn’t blur. “And even though I have only ever known you as a fraction of yourself, I was always happy to see you. Not just because you were my dad, but because that’s who you are. Who you _was_. Even the most cranky nurse on the ward loved taking care of you. And it was your natural spark of positivity, that got me through my hardest days. When I needed you the most, you were there. In my heart. In my mind. The torture that broke your spirit, never broke your optimism. Nor did it break the love for your wife, my mom. It didn’t break your love for nature. And, I hope, it didn’t break your love for me.”

“And dad? I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you so much, because-,” Blaise couldn’t stop himself and sniffed. For a moment the words on the page blurred a little. “Because you were the best dad I could have ever wished for. And I wish we could have spend more time together. I wish I could have known you the way you used to be. But at the end of the day, I can’t help but be so bloody grateful that I got the time we had. Rest in peace, dad. You’ll be missed.”

Blaise folded the speech in half, and descended the stage. His vision was blurry and for the first time in his life he’d cried in public. But the tiny, sad smile he got from Neville, as a silent _thank you_ for delivering the eulogy, mattered so much more to him than the tears on his face, that it hardly mattered. He linked his fingers with Neville again, and just like Frank had done with Alice, he planned to never let them go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a tumblr prompt, so you might reconise it. I hope it was worth the read<3  
> Let me know what you think!


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